Raw Skin
by x.soaked-silly
Summary: So she lives in this dark, sinister world. A world of such self-loathing and self-hatred that every night she attempts to rub herself clean. Raw. And as she does so, she remembers how she was abducted as a child, how she was taught to never say no, as well as everyone who has ever taken advantage of her.
1. Soiled

_Raw Skin_

It wasn't always like this, she thinks. There was a time when she was younger when she could look into this old, scratched up mirror and see an innocent, becoming girl instead of the dirty one she now views before her. There was a time where she could consider herself pretty, lovely even. But now when she traces the outline of the reflection, she can't help but notice all the curves that shouldn't be there, all the bones that shouldn't be showing, but maybe most importantly all the dirt that shouldn't be there.

The grime. The muck.

As she stares she's reminded of everything she's _not_ and how even if she tries she's never going to accomplish anything. As she stares she observes the hopelessness and the desperation brimming the reflection's chocolate brown eyes that seem so huge in comparison to its face when caked with makeup. And then she wonders what would happen if all that makeup and those false conceptions were to just fall away. Were to just...disappear.

She figures that the likelihood of that ever happening was almost nonexistent, but if it were to happen, in some evil, cruel paradox of the world, the reflection would be shunned or even, perhaps worse, pitied.

She reaches towards the mirror and runs her fingers over the figure's face, covering it, like if she did so, maybe the reflection would just go away. Disperse in a horrid explosion of glass. Break and shatter and _die_.

But it doesn't and she laughs softly to herself at her foolishness. At her temporary misguided belief that the girl in the mirror's problems could be fixed by simply masking her eyes. But the laugh soon subsides and the reflection's eyes suddenly become scarily empty, devoid of all emotion, like the happiness that had been sprawled messily across her face had never existed and instead was imagined in a desperate attempt to convince her that the reflection could feel something. Could feel happiness.

At least, happiness that wasn't sick or twisted.

She scans the marks on the mirror, permanently etched into its glistening silver surface. One strike for each crime was how it started out, she supposes. She can't really recall because somewhere along the line it began to mesh with all the mistakes as well and she commonly confuses the mistakes with the crimes and how all the deep cuts in the mirror began. There's many marks and even though she knows the exact number of them she counts the scattered scars from the top down.

A small grin tugs at the corners of her mouth at her systematic and ironic counting. She always counts from the top down, just as she was once at the top, but now she feels like she's falling down, down, down. But soon the gist of the smile fades into a frown and tears are filling up her eyes, but she averts her attention from the mirror and looks down at the sink. She takes a deep breath and bites down on the sides of her mouth, refusing herself the satisfaction of crying. Crying would mean that she was allowing herself to feel emotion. To feel pity for herself nonetheless. And she didn't deserve that; to acknowledge that her life wasn't what it should have been. Could have been. After all, she wrought this upon herself.

So she bottles up her tears, although not without the fear that one day that bottle will become full and eventually spill. But today's not that day and it's not full yet so she revels in the fact that she's able to abstain from the self pity she so wants to feel for herself. At least that means she has some control in her life. That she can control herself in some way.

But she quickly winces because control was no way to describe it. She couldn't control anything. Not the things she said no to and certainly not the layers of dirt and mud cloaking her skin. As she looks at the sink in front of her, phantasmagoric memories of her childhood flitting in and out of her thoughts that were slowly and painfully wretched from her grasping clutches only to be replaced with the sinful flashbacks of the horrible things she had committed.

She flips on the sink, setting the water to a boiling heat and as she's waiting for it to reach the warmth she so desires, she grabs a small towel that she keeps hung on a bar next to the shower. Her eyes flash with hurt as she takes in the small amount of blood left in the silky material to stain and to soil.

She lets the towel soak in the water, watching as her fingers steam and burn until she's satisfied and then pours soap onto the cloth before spreading it out on her arm, grimacing when she feels the stinging burn of the fiery water on her skin. But, no, she doesn't pull it off and instead rubs it furiously against her skin over and over and over again. She slides it against her arm harshly, willing the dirt to come off. Willing all the pain to wash away.

She _must_ rinse this all away.

Her arm soon becomes covered in a red rash which gives way to blood when the skin breaks and folds underneath her power, dying the white stained towel a dark red which makes her feel good. Elated. Ecstatic. It gives her a sick pleasure to know that she's purging herself from the very blood that carries her sinful nature. And so, even though the pain is nearing unbearable, she smiles, although it's broken. Shattered like a mirror that was tossed against the ground. It means nothing in the sullen, emotionless face. In the face that is merely a wisp of what it used to be.

When she starts to fatigue, she switches arms, intent on washing everything wrong she had done that day from her body. Intent on cleansing herself even though she's well aware that she can never truly become pure again. Perfect. But she has to _try_. She can't just let all the ugliness pile on her until she's barely recognizable. She has to at least get rid of some of the germs plaguing her.

Get rid of the evidence from the day as well as her past.

You may wonder why she does this to herself. Why she feels this constricting urge to harm herself in a futile attempt to feel whole again. To stitch herself back together again. How someone so seemingly beautiful can be so awful and disgusting. You might not be able to imagine a reason so grave as to feel the overwhelming draw to cleanse yourself daily. But to her, she can see no reason not to clean herself. Sees no reason to go a day without doing something such as this.

After all, she's a dirty, _dirty_ person.

She continues to wash herself until she exhausts herself, all her energy depleted, but she still doesn't feel content. Feels like she missed so many spots and that no matter what she does, those stains will still be there because that's exactly what they were. Stains. They would be engraved into her skin forever. There was no escape. But she sees how bloody the towel is and knows that even if she wants to continue, she can't as she doesn't see any more completely white parts of the towel. So she clogs the drain, lets the water run until it makes a big puddle, and throws her towel in for the night, hoping that the water would coach all the grime from the cloth.

Besides, she thinks she hears a car so she quickly bandages up her arm so that it appears as if nothing had happened and throws on a sweatshirt even though it's a warm enough temperature for t-shirts. She shuts her bathroom door behind her with a quiet clang, wishing that none of the filth she shed this night would collect on her again even though she knows it will.

The door opens downstairs and she hears her parents' chattering fill up the lonely rooms of her house and she wants to go down and greet them. Hug them. Act like they're blissfully unaware of how dirty she is. But, no, she doesn't, because she's so tired from pretending and instead goes to lay on the floor by her bed.

She glances up at the clock before falling backwards onto the carpeted floor, not even slightly surprised that it's only four. She huddles herself into a ball and wishes that the floor was more comfortable and that she could lay on her bed, but it's contaminated and even though she is defiled as well, she can't bring herself to become even dirtier by laying on it's sin infested wretched pillow.

Unfortunately, she knows that before too long she'll be back on that bed, dirtying it even more with her...deeds. She shudders to herself in fear and closes her eyes, hoping that she can just drift away into sleep. Luckily, she does, but not for to long before she feels someone roughly shaking her awake, screaming in her ear.

She sits up with a jolt, startled.

"Why are you asleep? It's only five," comes a rough voice and she realizes that she forgot about Jade coming over. So she looks up at the black haired girl and smiles broadly, her previous disposition completely gone as it was now irrelevant.

"Hi Jade!" she says perkily like she didn't have a sink full of her blood in the bathroom. Like she didn't have bandages running up and down her arms. Like she wasn't broken. And, even though she so badly wants to frown because Jade reminds her so much of all those men, all those girls, she doesn't, and keeps up her facade. Because if she lost her facade, then who would she be?

Jade continues on about things she had planned, but Cat doesn't pay attention, distracted by her sinister looking hair and the rough way her face tensed and pulled into a displeased frown of disappointment. Recollections of the day that man forced her into his car and then the events from then on continually replaying themselves in her head along with the pleas for attention and the self loathing comments that spun through her head, shaking her core, questioning her existence.

Jade doesn't seem to notice anything though, so Cat continues to stare. Continues to watch as the other girl's curly hair brushes against her shoulder and bounces up and down.

.

When Jade leaves, she's left alone again in the solitude of her room. She wonders if Jade would have come if they hadn't of had to work on the project together. Wonders why Jade bothers to affiliate herself with someone like Cat when Jade knows that the red headed girl is tainted, imperfect.

She wonders if maybe Jade might not really be able to see all the dirt collecting on her skin, forever embedded into her very being. Stitched and sown into her heart as a forever testament of everything bad. She wonders if anyone besides her can truly see the ugly mess of sins and shadows and evil surrounding her body, encompassing her in its dark clutches so that she can never escape. She feels sinister. She feels like a fiend; the agent of the devil. She should have learned to say no. She should have realized that she didn't need to say yes all the time.

Cat glances at her vibrant pink bed and pictures the things that occurred there. The wretched wrongs that were committed that stole her sainthood and started her decline into an everlasting abyss of this...this _emptiness_ that plagues her everyday, reminded her of how worthless she is and how alone she is. She shudders as the mental image of that...that man who raped her so long ago in that alleyway. The years she was held captive. And then the years when she returned home and gave herself up time and time again, the ability to say no lost somewhere along the line.

It was like her mouth could form the word, could shape the word, but her voice was weak and could never deliver, beaten down from years of being required to say _yes_.

She falls back onto the floor, curling up into a tight ball again, trying to drift off to sleep, but fear and paranoia keeping her awake, persisting that tomorrow won't bring anything better than today, so why go to sleep at all? In fact, why be here at all? But luckily she's able to block out all the noise of her mind with two sleeping pills from a bottle she keeps on her her desk, and falls into a heavy sleep but not without the dread of what a new day means.

.

She goes to school the next day, sits in class, talks to her friends animatedly, partly because she feels it's her responsibility too and partly because she feels that if she acts this way then she will become and embody that happiness that she portrays to her peers. Unfortunately, memories constantly bring her mood down as well as the fact that she's committing another sin, only this time to herself, because she was a firm believer that everyone should be true to themselves. In a desperate attempt to convince herself that she's not a hypocrite, she whispers under her breath that she's not really pretending to be someone else. No, she's just being a more smily, happier extension of herself.

And while she's whispering such lies to herself, she feels like she's being watched, which wasn't out of the norm. She glances around the halls and then smiles when she sees a boy with blonde hair staring at her. She waves at him and then winks in a flirtatious manner. The boy looks taken aback, smirks, and turns back to his friends and starts laughing. The rest of them laugh along as well and she can't help but frown at this open display of public shunning.

Fortunately, her friend comes over to distract her, but when Trina starts talking, it only causes her to think more so about the events at hand.

"You're such a whore. You know that, don't you?" Cat feels the urge to push Trina away, to scream at her and holler obscenities, but she's never been one for any act of violence, even with words, so she just blinks slowly and stares at Trina. The older Vega repeats what she said, but this time in a slow, mocking tone and it makes Cat wince, flinching at the harshness of what was being said. Wincing at the truth.

The rest of the day Cat spends as she would, things like this not getting to her as much as they used to. After awhile, she became used to the jeers and insults, accustomed to the treatment she receives. The treatment she deserves. Luckily, no one mentions Trina's outburst at the bubbly red head and Cat is largely distracted from the conversation until the end of the day where she sees Trina gathering books from her locker to go home, a few small crystal tears pulling at her eyes which were trained on the boy Cat winked at before.

Cat notices that the blonde boy is staring at her again, only this time when she returns his glance, he shyly looks away, his cheeks flushing a rosy red. Now normally she would walk over and talk to him, but suddenly she recognizes him and feels this wickedness overcome her. This hatred. This self-loathing.

_He's Brandon_, she thinks. _He's the boy Trina likes_.

It was to be expected that when she went home, she rubbed her skin raw again, except this time she rubbed at her face, or, more specifically, her eye. The next day, her eye was swollen shut and she told her friends that her brother had flung a pencil at her in an attempt to become the world's first archer of pencils, but it had hit her in the eye.

She wonders if the others are really stupid enough to believe or story or just to tired to ask.

And so the girl with the red hair was, or rather, wasn't. Everyday it seemed to be an ongoing internal fight, wrestling with herself, telling herself that on one hand she wasn't good enough, and on the other she, despite refusing to acknowledge it, pities herself. She wishes with all her might that she might be able to tell someone, but is scared. Fearful. Petrified that they might not care. That there's a chance that they think that she deserves this treatment as well. And it's so, so scary because what else is there left to do when you figure out you're really truly alone?

So she lives in this dark, sinister world. A world of such self-loathing and self-hatred that every night she attempts to rub herself clean, finding herself inadequate to walk around in public. Because sometimes there comes a point in a person's life where they realize that they are so messed up, so twisted and gnarled, that they have no chance to live a normal life. So they do only what they know. They keep to themselves, terrified that if they reach out then someone else will solidify their thoughts in that they are a horrible person.

And when it's realized to them that there really is no one that believes they are worthy, they finally accept that maybe they aren't even worthy enough to live on this earth.

And such was the mentality of the short red head, Caterina Valentine.

* * *

_Note: Multi-chapter perhaps? Yes? No? :) You should maybe perhaps drop a review because I kinda like them sometimes a lot...Even if this was short. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! :)_


	2. Fix Me

_Raw Skin_

It's not like she doesn't know. No, she does. She realizes how sick and twisted it is to rub at her skin so furiously that it bruises and turns an ugly pale pink. But she also knows that if she stops, she'll be allowing all the dirt and all the muck from her past collect on her and ruin her. Ruin her more than she's already been. She knows that she's mentally soiled, but she also knows that she's physically as well and if she can just maybe clean off the mud then she won't be as filthy.

Cat stares at the clock in the classroom, elbows resting on the desk, hands propping up her head lazily. When the bell rings, it signals the end of the school day and she dreads going home. She knows the sweet, alluring promises the rags which she uses will make to her. Promises her to cleanse, to rid her of all stains. She doesn't want to give in, wants to remain strong because it really _hurts_, but the more she does it the more she feels like she needs to do it more, like each time isn't enough and she's not giving her _best_. And she hates feeling like that. Wretched, miserable, wicked, that she's not _trying_ even though she is. She can't help but loathe herself when she looks at herself in that mirror. There's to many impurities left behind on her body that it makes it near impossible for her to trick herself into thinking she's normal. Thinking she's _pretty_. Pure.

She knows it's _wrong_. She knows her reasonings are _wrong_. After all, that's why she's hiding it. Because she's embarrassed of it. Because she knows that it's crazy, _despicable_, and regular people don't do it. But she can't seem to stop out of paranoia. Out of fear that if she stops, then the grime will swallow her up, consume her and drag her down and trap her. And then everyone will be able to see that she's defiled. Unclean. She's so petrified and so scared of that happening again. So afraid of people seeing her for what she really is. How she's really worse than any whore or bitch that goes around in her school. She's just _sick_. Just bad.

The bell rings loudly, jolting her out of her thoughts, and she stands from her seat, grabbing her backpack that was leaning against the metal legs. Pink, red, bubbles. She can't help but be reminded of her skin and the way it oozes blood, letting it drip down her arm and then fall onto the ground below. The ragged, pink flesh. The new layer of skin beneath it, portraying unstained, clear, beautiful skin. Like everything was perfect. Like she was _perfect_, if just for a moment, just in that spot.

She swings her backpack over her shoulder and quickly walks out. She catches sight of her friends up ahead and skips over to them, a gorgeous smile slapped onto her face. She can't help but think over and over again, _fake_. "Wait up!" she calls out and then runs into Beck. She giggles uncontrollably while Beck recovers from the jolt of being slammed into by a tiny red haired girl.

"That's karma," Jade raises her eyebrow at Beck and Cat almost asks what was going on, but then holds her tongue, not wanting to indirectly cause an argument between the pair because of a stupid question. Beck sighs, but says nothing, and just holds his hands up in defeat. Cat takes the opportunity to bring some happiness to the now awkward situation and goes to high ten Beck. But as the sound of the high fives resonates, her eyes grow wide and she jerks her arms back and puts them behind her back.

"Uh, Cat?" Beck questions, but Cat cheerily shrugs, offering no explanation. Tori raises an eyebrow at her, scrunching up her nose in the way the Latina always does when she's bewildered.

"Alright...Anyway-" Tori starts to say, but Cat interrupts her, howling her goodbye before quickening her pace to get away from her group of friends, nervous that if she stayed she would mess up again. She has to be careful. She doesn't think they saw, but she's still worried. After all, when she high fived Beck, the arms of her sweatshirt fell, revealing tan colored bandages. She hopes she pulled away fast enough for no one to notice.

As she walks out the doors of Hollywood Arts, she thinks to herself that she has to stop this. She can't go around _hiding_ and covering up the vile person she's become all of the time. She can't take it anymore. The stomach racking feeling of wondering if today will be the day. The day when someone catches her hands and pulls down the sweatshirt, then removes the bandages. The day when everyone realizes that she's so...so _messed up_.

She goes over to the school bus, flashing the driver her permit to ride the bus home, and gets on, walking towards the back and sitting with some of her other friends, promising herself that she'll try to fix herself. Try to stitch herself back up together.

.

She's home now. She walks to the front door and unlocks it with the key she grabbed from her backpack's pocket before striding in, closing and locking the door behind her. She has to always keep the house locked up, the fear of something bad happening to her like it happened in the past deterring her from leaving the doors open so that anyone could get in. Anyone could get it and do _anything_. She shivers and throws her backpack on the little wooden table in the kitchen before walking up the stairs, casting a glance at the bathroom as she walks by.

Not today, she hopes, the fear from her friends almost discovering her evil secret still fresh in her mind and apparent in her whole, tense stature, body shaking, teeth biting the insides of her mouth, a bad habit, tearing her skin and letting the metallic blood pour out, staining her mouth. Discoloring the back of her teeth.

She needs to get rid of the marks first. The scars. She can't keep going around, pretending like nothing was wrong. Like she didn't have ripped up, pink flesh lining her arms, proving that she's not who she says she is.

She goes into her room and sits on the carpeted floor and undoes the bandages, unwrapping their constricting grip from her arms. After all the wraps are on the ground in disgruntled heaps, she runs her fingers lightly over her left arm. She winces as she sees how much her arms have healed. She wasn't expecting it to recover this much. It sort of feels like she's cheating. Like her arms shouldn't be this healed, even though she should be happy that the marks are disappearing. It's almost unfair and suddenly she feels like she's suffocating. Like she doesn't know what she'll do if the marks actually do go away. She can't remember a time where her arms were unscathed and it scares her to think that they can change. Even though she wants nothing more than to be normal and pure, she can't stand that one day the scars that have been there for as long as she can remember might go away.

Almost mechanically, she suddenly digs her nails in as she glides up her arm, digging into her skin, ripping it. Tearing it. Then the blood comes, but she doesn't care. It will blend in with the carpet. No one can see it. No one ever does.

As she drags her nails up to the soft skin between the two parts of her arm, she stops, her hand dropping to her side. She tiredly glances up at the clock, then stares. Just stares and stares, ignoring the trickling of her blood sliding down her arm, reminding her that she's crazy. That she's insane. That she broke her promise.

But she didn't, in a way, she thinks. She promised herself she wouldn't end up washing away the dirt. She never set any rules about this...About whatever she had just done. The thought occurs to her that it might be just as bad as the other sin she commits, but she ignores it, lying to herself and saying that it's fine. That she's all right.

So she just sits on her carpet. Sits, and sits, and sits, until finally she starts to wonder where her parents are. Usually they come home at around fourish or fiveish, but they're not. She starts to feel an unsettling loneliness creep into the shadows of her room, stretching and growing and rattling in her bones. She wishes she could hear the chatting of their incessant voices, or maybe the screams and shouts of her brother, but he's away and so are they.

She slowly gets to her feet, having to go the bathroom. She closes her eyes tightly, trying to block out all of her awful thoughts before going downstairs and grabbing her backpack, suppressing any urges she might feel. She knows that homework will distract her. Homework will remind her that she's a normal student.

But as she takes out her notebook, pen, and math textbook, and starts to do the problems her teacher assigned, her mind starts to drift off more and more until she's not even really doing the math problems, just writing down random numbers. But she's able to shake off her thoughts for a moment and look down at her homework, suddenly getting a grave feeling in the pit of her stomach. She feels useless; she can't even do her math homework right, let alone live her life correctly. And it's as if reality suddenly crashes in and she wonders...what is she doing? What the fuck is she doing? What the fuck is her _life_? Anger surges through her body. This math homework is stupid. _She's_ stupid. She's told herself so, _so_ many lies. She's stupid to believe that she could be normal and do her math homework. That she's not dirty and she doesn't need to wash herself.

And then she breaks down, rushing off to the bathroom and setting the shower to a boiling heat so that she _knows_ her skin will be scorched, blistering and red, when she steps out. She has to wash her whole body today, has to remove every inch of anything ugly from her body that she can. She was an idiot to think that she could overcome such a torturous habit. Such an inhumane habit that had her spun tight around its perfect ideals and conceptions, telling her what she wants to hear. What she needs to hear. That if she does this, then...then she can get rid of all this foul muck.

She reaches underneath the sink in the cabinet and grabs a towel and then retrieves her almost clean but not quite rag from its hanging spot and then undresses, ripping off her clothing in an almost animalistic way, possessed by this need, this _compulsion_, to wash everything way. To just cleanse herself.

She jumps in the shower and pours soup all over her body before taking her rag and washing. Washing, washing, washing, _killing_.

Because as she does this, she knows that one day this might just kill her. But she's okay with that, as long as all the dirt is finally off of her.

.

The next day she goes to school like normal, accepting the fact that she's not going to be able to fix herself. To get rid of the nasty habit. But she's all right with it, she decides (she _lies_), seeing as though every time she scrubs at herself, she feels this insane relief flooding her body. She knows what she should be feeling is guilt, but she can't deny the perfectly unhealthy sensations coursing through her when she finds she's progressing in her unrelenting task of purging herself of all those nasty sins. Can't deny the voice in her head telling her she's doing good, she's doing good, she's doing good. Can't deny that it's the only thing she's good _at_.

She's dragged out of her thoughts and into reality when she reaches the front doors of Hollywood Arts. She walks in behind everyone else, donning a smile. Except this time the smile is partly real, even if it's for all the wrong reasons as she finds pleasure in the sickest things.

Her eyes seem to shine as she greets Jade, Tori, Andre, Robbie, Beck, even Sinjin. "Hi! Hey! Hello!" She calls out to each and every one of them. They all return her grin, except for Jade who was never a morning person. Actually, she was never an anything person. So Cat went through the motions, questioning how their week was going, lamenting a tale about her brother who had, in honest truth, walked out on their family a few years ago. No one ever suspected a thing. No one ever pointed out that the way she was talking and acting this morning was all _unnatural_, and _jittery_, and just _odd_. No one gave a second thought to the way she was shaking, her whole frame jolting back and forth out of...what? Excitement? Fear? Nervousness? Even she didn't know, except she thought it maybe came from the pills she took this morning.

The day was moving quickly and she had calmed down, regaining her air headed composure, her usual personality, and she did not once think again of the events that happened in the past. No, today she felt oddly...content with herself. Oddly all right with everything she had done and everything she will do. She had this peace, this serenity, surrounding her, and she felt...she felt _happy_ and faint almost. She wonders where it had come from and why it was here. Had she taken _too_ many painkillers this morning? Nevertheless, she liked this feeling. She liked _not_ hating herself. She felt like she was bearable, like she could stand to be this person.

But it all came crashing down around her in an assortment of broken fantasies and failed dreams when she was walking down the hall and bumped into a certain raven haired girl who was quick to grab her wrist and hold it up high. She had giggled at first, laughing at the audacity of the Goth, but the giggles soon faded as she watched her sleeve slip slowly down her arm. She attempted to wretch her arm away, but Jade held fast and strong, unmoving. Suddenly Cat was paling and she experienced this suffocating light and everything became to _bright_ and to _loud_ and to _crowded_ for her. She gulps nervously, very self conscious, and on the verge of having a panic attack.

"What's wrong Cat?" Jade smirked cruelly. "What are you hiding?"

Cat shook her head. "N-Not now Jade, please," she begged, all previous happiness and giddiness drained from her very being.

"Why? What's under your sleeve?" Jade implored, yanking Cat's arm higher in the air. Cat let out a yelp and then hurriedly stuttered for Jade to let go. That this isn't the time or place. That if she does this, then Cat will cry. Then Cat might die. Then-

Jade drops Cat's hand and Cat eyes her suspiciously, having expected Jade to gone through with it. There was an extended silence, a pause, the pair of supposed best friends staring each other down. Cat didn't back down. Many people took her for the type to just give in to any pressure, and she was, but not with Jade. Never with Jade because she learned in a very bad way that if she lets Jade roll over her, then Jade will _crush_ her.

Finally the silence is broken. "What's under the bandage?"

"Nothing," Cat says sweetly. Innocently, airily, acting like nothing had just happened. Like she didn't just have a panic attack.

Jade cocks her eyebrow in a way that makes Cat feels like a child. Then the Goth gently picks up Cat's arm again. Cat knows she should run, feels the flight instinct kick in, but she doesn't. Just stands there, stoic, unmoving as if she's stuck to the floor even though she's quite aware of the whole school bustling around her. Jade pushes back the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Farther, farther, farther. Cat tenses, but doesn't pull away. Lets Jade start to unwrap the big bandage that's been there for so long. To long. When Jade uncovers her bad, bad secret, she doesn't say anything. Stares for a long time. To long. Cat suddenly feels like life has electrified her, brought her back to this world because suddenly she's snatching her arm back, re-wrapping it and then pulling her sleeve down, scared. Fearful that at any moment Jade might just shout to the school, inform them that she was a _freak_. That she was crazy. That everything would happen all over again.

But, no, she doesn't.

"What the fuck," is all she says and Cat can live with that.

Cat shrugs aimlessly and happily grins at Jade like she doesn't have a care in the world, willing for Jade to just pretend like she never saw this. That this never happened so that they can both go back to living their lives and never dwell on this ever again. But Jade doesn't return her smile or her cheerfulness. Doesn't give her a thumbs up or a reassuring wink. Just repeats.

"What the fuck."

And Cat's smile falters slightly and she can feel all those hateful words she spits at herself when she looks in a mirror creeping into the back of her mind, unwanted, but still claiming residence. She tells herself that she's stupid for doing something like this. For betraying her instincts to flee and instead staying, allowing Jade to solidify her thoughts that she's crazy. But still, Cat just stands there, that dumb smile still sprawled across her face, like she didn't know one bad thing this world could hold.

It seems Jade gets the message because she turns on her heels and walks away, just like that. Cat lets out a sigh of relief and allows that spark of triumph to alight in her. But it's quickly quenched and she feels this emptiness in her. She wonders why and decides it can't be that Jade walked away, because that's exactly what she wanted her to do. Not stay. Definitely not stay and comfort her and tell her that she's not crazy. That she's normal too and that she's going to be okay. Nope, not that, because Cat doesn't need anyone else. Doesn't need anyone to say such blatant lies.

She walks home that day instead of taking the bus, pondering the reason she didn't just run from Jade. Why she stayed. But whatever, it didn't matter. What's done was done and it was over and solved for the better. Jade left her and she was happy that she did.

When she reaches her house, unlocks the door, steps in, and locks it again behind her, she goes upstairs to her room and looks at the assortment of pills she keeps on her bed stand. She has a flashback of this morning and wonders if she was happy because she overdosed accidentally. She wonders if she took two pills, then forgot she had, and then took another two, and maybe repeated it. It's happened before.

Whatever the reason she opens up the bottle and shakes exactly five pills onto her hand. She glares at them for a while, before deciding against it and pouring it back into the bottle. She never wants to go back there again, even if for a time it makes her feel elated.

She goes back downstairs, rings up Tori, and then goes to her house to hang out with her to work on a project. When she comes back, she jumps in the shower, thinks of all the idiotic things she said to Tori, and rubs at herself till her skin produces red blotches. But then she stops, because she hears her parents outside of the bathroom door to hurry up, because dinner is done.

.

The next morning, Jade approaches her. She's apprehensive, unsure of what the Goth will say. She's right too be because then Jade pulls her to the side and asks _why_.

* * *

Author's Note: Yay! Next chapter up, but I think it's a little choppy :( Also, next chapter will (obviously) be some of the reasons she's the way she is! Anyway, hope you enjoyed! :)


	3. Confession

_Raw Skin_

_Why._

Such a simple question. Just three letters, just three little letters. But it's like she can't comprehend them, can't process the word through her brain. Can't form a response. She wants to say no, wants to flee and hide away in this hidden world she's created for herself. But even though she opens her mouth, prepared to deny everything, to say that she's fine, she can't. Because she hasn't said no in a long time. In a long, long, _long_ time.

She finds her voice caught in her throat and suddenly she's scared that she's choking. That she's suffocating to death because this word that she's trying so hard to form, to just _squeak_ out, is constraining her, sentencing in her to a silent death.

Jade's waiting. She's just staring expectantly, like Cat will say something for once that has value. But it horrifies Cat, makes her squirm and twist, afraid of the crushing expectancies Jade is forcing on her. Her eyes begin to water and she quickly closes her mouth, biting the insides of it, tearing at the flesh in a desperate attempt to keep from crying because she's so frightened. So fearful.

But still Jade watches, her hand tightening its grip on Cat's arm, constricting Cat, preventing any form of escape. She tries weakly to throw Jade's hand off, but it doesn't work and she knows she has to tell Jade something. Anything. Even if it's just a lie. But she still can't say anything, so...so she breaks down and starts to crumble.

Jade looks alarmed and quickly drags Cat out of Hollywood Art's double doors and into the parking lot, tracking towards her car. She's not usually like this, doesn't usually care, so Cat thinks whatever happened to make Jade care about her must have been bad. Cat must have messed up pretty horridly for Jade to be so distressed.

She's a mess of mascara and eyeliner, she can tell, because when she wipes her face, she can see the blurry black spots on her fingers. Seeing her make up come off makes her cry harder because her safety net was falling away and now maybe Jade can see all the dirt on her. All the bruises and scars.

_Why_.

It's repeated again once they reach Jade's car. Jade swings them around to the back of the car and Cat supposes it's for privacy and she is quick to crumble to the ground, scraping up her knees. She doesn't want to answer, so she just shakes her head, back and forth, back and forth. It becomes almost rhythmic and soon she feels the need to continue doing it, like if she stops then something very bad will happen. And it kind of soothes her. Reminds her of when she was younger and her mom would sit her in her lap, rocking back and forth, back and forth. But Jade reaches out, yanking Cat out of her memories, and holds the sides of the girl's head still. This causes Cat to shriek and she nearly goes ballistic, pulling her head out of Jade's grasp with such force that it hits the back of the car with a loud bang.

"Cat stop!" Jade hollers and she knows Jade is right. She knows she has to stop freaking out, has to calm down and pull herself together. That she's disturbing Jade and maybe if she stops now, she can make up some excuse. But she can't and she starts to have these flashbacks of all the times she's tried to stop crying even though she couldn't. She thinks of when that man first took her. Yes, she was terrified, but it wasn't until they came to a secluded house in the woods that she started bawling. He told her to shut up, to keep quiet because he had a headache. She just wanted her mother so she screamed out, hollered, "Mommy! Mommy I-" And then he interrupted her, warned her to stop, but she shook her head no. No, no, no, no, no. So he retched back and punched her, telling her, stating it, making it known that this was to be the last time she ever told him no. Then he told her to shut up again, but she couldn't. She couldn't stop the tears.

"Cat!" Jade's voice is distant and she vaguely feels a hand on her shoulder, so she moves over so that the hand falls and there was no contact with Jade anymore. She gingerly lifts her head up out of her hands and hugs her knees close. She shivers and trembles, the weight of the man's hand replaying in her head. Her eyes are wide with shock and the tears pour down her cheeks, removing the make up, revealing the stains.

"Cat answer me!" she hears and she slowly turns her eyes to Jade. Jade takes the opportunity to slowly approach Cat, like if she went to fast then Cat would flee, taking off like nothing more than a frightened animal. Jade goes down to her knees before taking Cat's arm again, pushing back the sleeve of her shirt until it showed that bandage she applies nearly every day. She unwraps it and even though Cat tries to withdraw her arm, Jade doesn't let it go. Cat feels the distant fear crawling up her spine, trying to persuade her that Jade's that man. That man that hurt her all those years ago. But she pushes it down, to tired to start up again, to tired to believe its far fetched lies. She allows Jade to touch her this time because she's able to look at her, watch her, confirm that this is _Jade_ and not that man.

Jade seems to realize this because she's unwraps the bandage more hastily. When the wrappings fall away, there's that look of horror on Jade's face again, but Cat doesn't say anything. Just stays there.

_What_.

This time it's what is that, not why is that, and the question is slightly less intrusive. She feels like if she really wanted to she could explain, but she hesitates, refrains from saying anything, petrified of what Jade's reaction will be when she reveals what she actually does to herself. She's worried that when she tells Jade the truth, Jade will run away and inform everyone about how she's a _freak_.

"I-I..." It feels like the first time Cat has spoken a word in years and her mouth is quick to run dry. She can hardly say the words and it has a dizzying affect on her because it's almost like a paradox. That she's younger again and is just learning how to talk even though she's sixteen. "It's...I...cleaning," she hiccups, not sure of how to say it. Not sure if she wants to.

"I rub a-a-at my sk-skin...with. W-with a was-washcloth." Jade just looks at her confused.

"You _what_?" The question is almost demeaning and it feels like Jade is talking down at her, or maybe even in disgust.

"I-I take a-a-a...washcloth an-and r-rub at my-my...my skin f-for hours," she admits, this time more quietly so that Jade is leaning in, trying to catch every word that stammers its way out of Cat's throat. When she's done talking, Cat scans Jade's face for any change in emotion.

"_What_?" Cat doesn't feel the need to explain herself again and she knows that Jade heard what she said, so she remains quiet, calming herself down, listening to her ragged breathing, waiting for the judgement that is sure to be thrown her way. This is her first time telling anyone of what she does and she starts to wonder why she actually told Jade what she had done to herself. She blames herself for being to vulnerable and allowing Jade to have gotten a glimpse of the horrors she's committed in the first place and she tells herself that it was stupid to have started crying.

"That's _sick_." The words are soaked in venom, bathing in animosity. Cat's taken aback, even though she prepared for the words of ridicule. It seems she didn't prepare enough because Jade's words sliced through her faint hope that the other girl would sympathize with her or pity her and she nearly lost herself to a hysteria that was rapidly building in her chest. She gazes up at Jade, tense and ready to do anything she may have to, whether she ran or whether she endured the shouting that she assumed would soon ensue. "Why the _hell_ would you do that! What the _fuck_ are you thinking!"

Cat struggles to find something to say. Anything to say. Half of her wishes that she can just laugh it all off, pretending that this was all a joke and she wasn't serious and that Jade was so stupid to have fallen for her little prank. The other half of her debates whether to start screaming at the other girl or to just run. Just run, run, run until her bright pink Converse soles broke.

"Cat! Say something!" Jade yells, grabbing Cat's shoulders and then violently shaking them with a fury that she has never displayed towards the red head before. But Cat doesn't talk, in a state of shock that what was happening really was, in fact, happening. She reaches up and throws Jade's hand off of her body and then covers her ears. She starts to rock back and forth, just wanting to be in her room, alone with her dirty, dirty unspoken secrets.

She must have been whispering aloud because Jade tugged her hands from her ears and screamed at her, screeched at her, that she's not alone in her room and she has to face what was happening. That she can't be a _fucking_ coward and she has to _fucking_ explain why she's so _fucking_ messed up and that Jade's so _fucking_ disturbed right now.

"H...H-he...He..." she's holding back sobs and dryly heaving from the effort. Her chest feels like it's collapsing and she just wants to be away from here. Just wants her life to go back to normal. Just wants none of this to have ever occurred.

Jade doesn't understand her rambling and stands up, roughly pulling Cat up as well by her wrists. Cat lets out a startled yelp, but this time doesn't pull away. Jade begins to tug the other girl behind her and as they approach the school, the red head starts to protest and pulls back and even _bites_ Jade's hand, but Jade quickly turns on her heel and actually _slaps_ Cat. That shuts both of them up and they just stare at one another in a mixture of anger, fear, and uncertainty. This goes on for a minute and Cat would like to have pretended that this was just a staring contest, but she can't deny the tears once again brimming at her eyes and she can't stop the flash of memories, _bad_ memories, racing through her mind, Jade's slap stirring them around and bringing them back up to the surface.

She swallows nervously as she recalls a time when he slapped her just like Jade had just done. She remembers asking him when she could go home. She remembers him saying only when the cops came. She asked when that would be and he told her hopefully never and if they did, she was to hide herself away. If she didn't, he would make sure something very, very bad happened to her.

.

_"But I just want my mommy!" she sobs, standing there pitifully, her face buried in her calloused hands._

_"Well she's not coming. And neither is your father or brother. They're gone, Sophia," he explains harshly but she senses a kindness surrounding him, like he's a strict father. She winces at the name he's given her. _Sophia_. She's no Sophia, but he instructed her that she has to respond to that name or else he'll do something very bad. He never says what he's going to do, but the fear of the unknown prevents Cat from refusing him._

_"Why?" she sobs, "Why?"_

_"Pick up your face and stop crying," he commands, but when she doesn't, she hears his footfalls coming closer, closer, closer..."1...2...Good," he praises her when her head shoots up and she wipes the tears off her face._

_"Why won't they come?" she asks desperately, looking up into his eyes the way only a child can do._

_The man chews on his lip for a second, temporarily shifting his gaze up to the ceiling. It looks like he's pondering the question very hard and Cat doubts he knows the answer. But she must be wrong because in a second he snaps his eyes back to her and responds. "Because they don't love you."_

_It stings._

_"No, tha-"_

_The sound of his hand connecting with her face reverberates in the almost barren room, bouncing off the walls and resounding in her ears._

_"What did I tell you about saying no?"_

_"T-that I'm not allowed," her voice catches in her throat as she holds back the tears threatening to come. She wasn't supposed to cry either because it gave the man headaches so she tries her hardest to suppress her yelps of pain._

_"That's right," he coos. "Now come over here," he demands gruffly, and she does because she's not to say no and he wraps his arms around her in a hug. He smells funny, she notices for the first time and when he lets her go and when she takes a few steps back, she realizes it's not just him, it's the whole house. She doesn't know why she hasn't noticed it before but now she does and it terrifies her._

_"So we have a clear understanding now?" the man adds for reassurance and she nods her head fiercely that yes, they do. "Is there anything else you would like to ask?" She has a million and one questions but she knows that with maybe three or four questions, he would become angry and tell her that she was being to inquisitive for her own good and he would make her stop, but she guesses two is okay just as long as she doesn't go overboard._

_"Why am I here?" she asks, looking around at the solemn room, the only furniture being a broken rocking chair, a carpet, and a cot laying in the corner. The room was a light pink. A happy pink and it didn't quite fit. On the walls in purple were scrawled some words, but they were written messily and they were to big for her to read. Many more letters than her reading book at school._

_"You're here because I love you more than your family does," he states simply, easily, like it's the plain truth. She wants to tell him that, no, that's not right and that her family does her love very, very much, but she's not allowed. It's not permitted in the rules. So she just nods like she agrees with him, even though she doesn't._

_"Is that all?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Yes...?"_

_"Yes dear." He has her to refer to him using the nicknames her parents sometimes called her. She doesn't understand why, but it freaks her out a bit._

.

"Come on," Jade orders and continues her half run half walk into the school building, Cat trailing behind her unwillingly, afraid of receiving another whack from Jade. She wants to ask the other girl where they were going, but bites her tongue hard so that blood spills into her mouth. Besides, soon they reach their destination and Jade throws the door to Lane's office open. He's sitting in his hanging chair, talking to a student, but Jade lets her go and then goes over to the other boy. She pushes him from where he's sitting and yells at him to get the fuck out. He scrambles away, throwing one or two apprehensive glances over his shoulder as he goes.

Cat stays where Jade let go of her wrist, standing completely still, knowing exactly what's about to happen. She just prays that the whole school doesn't hear about this if they haven't already seen her face when Jade towed her through the school.

"Jade! Sto-" Lane begins but Jade cuts him off.

"No! You fucking _stop_ and listen to what I have to say!"

"Jade this isn-"

"Lane!"  
"I'm going to have to send you to the office if this continues!" Lane threatens, silencing Jade. He looks towards the entrance to his room and sees Cat standing there. He motions for her to come in, his face rapidly morphing into an expression of worry and concern.

"Cat, come over here! What's wrong!" he prods gently and Cat walks over to him on her tippy toes before falling back onto the soft couch.

"I was trying t-"

"Jade, not now," Lane reprimanded the taller girl harshly and then turned his attention back on Cat. Cat doesn't speak, just looks downcast. "Cat?" he asks, trying to get her to say something. Anything. But she doesn't. She doesn't want to explain what she's been doing. She doesn't want to say anything that will make him think she's crazy.

Lane sighs and then looks at Jade before relinquishing. "Jade, what were you going to say before?"

"Look at her arms," Jade growls, then grabs Cat's wrists and forces the sleeve of her shirt down so that it reveals Cat's shameful secret. Cat doesn't take her eyes off of her shoes, knowing that when she looks up she will see Lane's disapproving face. As Jade continues talking, she tunes everything out, softly humming to herself, wanting to be in a place that made her feel safe like her room or an ice cream shop or at least anywhere but here. Her humming increases as Jade's and Lane's voices increase, refusing to acknowledge them. Although, she can hear the hateful words thrown her way like 'screwed up' and 'insane' and a bunch of other things. She can hear Lane interrogating Jade, asking her how this happened, what happened, and if she's not telling him all that she knows.

Finally, the arguing stops and her hums die down.

"Cat?" she hears and she looks up. "Is this true?"

She wants to tell him no, that this was all a scam, but she wonders that if she says no, will Jade slap her again? So she just sadly nods her head yes.

"Do your parents know?" This time Jade answers for her, telling Lane that they don't because Jade's smart enough to know that if Cat's parents knew about this, she wouldn't be here right now.

"Well I think we need to talk to your parents, Cat, and tell them. Then maybe, with their consent, we can get you help. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

And as she looks over at Jade, those fears kick in again and she answers that yes, she would, even though she kinda maybe didn't.

Because she's not crazy.

Therapy's no place for her.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Okay, so Jade might seem a little OOC here, but believe me I have a reason that I'll incorporate later! :) Also, I realized Chapter Two is kind of messy so I may go back and fix that. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Oh, and by the way, do you like the story cover thing?


	4. Confrontations

_Raw Skin_

To soon. It's to soon. She doesn't know what to say. Can't find the right words to tell her parents what she's been doing. Or rather, why. It's all happening to quickly, like time was speeding forward, dragging her with it no matter how reluctant she may be to go along. But then again, would there ever be any words to express to her parents how messed up she is? Why she's so sick and twisted and mental in the head?

She feels an overwhelming urge to just apologize, break down, swear that she'll never do it again. Feels as though maybe if she does so then they can forget this ever happened and she can act like her parents wouldn't look at her differently every time she came from her shower. Every time she passed them. She can imagine their faces; their faces would be shriveled in disgust, plagued with disappointment, riddled with hatred for their oh so imperfect daughter. She can imagine that every time she would look at them, they would turn away, wondering where they went wrong.

She swallows.

"Oh, Cat! Why are you here honey? Did you have a half day?" her father smiles sweetly as she enters the door. A smile that was not returned. Lane had driven her home immediately after having called her mother and explaining the predicament as best he could without revealing exactly what has been happening. Her mother replied that she would come home right away. However, her dad was unaware of the situation.

The opening of a door sounded through the house as Lane entered behind her.

Her father's grin grew wider, more welcoming, but it didn't fool Cat. She understood that when her dad became nervous or unsure of himself, he smiled. "Oh...Lane! How are you?" he asks precariously, like he knew whatever was going to go down was not going to be good. He shifts from one foot to the other, twiddling his fingers as Lane's grave features turns more solemn, if that was even possible.

"I'm okay, thank you for asking Mr. Valentine. How are you?" Lane responds softly as if he spoke to loud than he would just shatter. Cat can see that. Lane is so soft spoken and she wonders that if he ever really truly yelled, what it would sound like. She doesn't think he's capable of screaming. Thinks he would break himself trying to sound harsh, abrasive, mean.

"I'm good...I'm good...Would you like to take a seat? I can get you, uh, water or something? Would you like water?" her father questions, gesturing to the couch in the room over before waving at the kitchen as if to suggest water.

"Thank you, but...do you have any tea actually? It's really cold outside." Cat suspects Lane is only trying to be nice, trying to ease the tension, but his face says otherwise. Betrays him and portrays that he's worried. Extremely worried. If he had it his way, she thinks Lane would cut the niceties and just blurt everything out. But they need to wait for her mom.

Lane walks over, rubbing his hands together (she thinks he must have lotion in his hands) and sits down on the coach.

"Cat? Are you all right? You haven't said a word...Are you sick?" her father asks with concern. She feels her throat constrict. She's more ill than he could imagine. So, unable to lie, she gives a slight nod of her head. Her father looks at her curiously, but then tells her to go sit by Lane and that he'll be over in a minute or two.

She heads over to the couch, but instead of sitting on it, she takes a spot on the floor near the cocktail table because if things get heated, she can always crawl under it and pretend it's her safe room and that she's just hiding and none of this is actually going on. Lane looks at her oddly, but she merely shrugs in response, all form of speech seemingly yanked from her grasp.

"Cat..."

She doesn't answer. She's too involved in her own head to think up a response. She's wondering what she's going to say. What's going to happen. All of the possibilities and outcomes race through her head. Most of them are bad.

_Bang_.

The front door colliding with the wall signals her mother's arrival. Her mother takes in the scene, apprehension clear on her face. Cat can just envision the apprehension warping into repugnance when Lane informs her parents of what's been going on (because she never would, to afraid of what her parent's reactions might be).

"Hey honey!" her father calls from the kitchen. "Lane is here! Cat to."

"I know," her mother's small voice comes. She's concerned.

"You know?"

"Matt, can you come in here?" her mother asks, throwing off her shoes and walking into the living room. It was only a few steps away and it was conjoined with the entrance way, the kitchen, and the dining room. Her house was very open and large, with enough room for a boy such as her mentally disabled brother to run around in without dashing into something.

"Yeah, of course...The tea is almost done."

Lane clears his throat. "It's fine, I don't really need the tea," he announces softly. She can hear her father stirring in the kitchen, quickly preparing the tea, ignoring what Lane said. In a second or so, he finishes up and swiftly makes his way towards the couch.

"Here you are," he smiles, although the smile is fake.

Both of her parents take a seat on the two armchairs that are positioned so that they are facing the couch.

"Cat, why are you sitting on the floor?" her mother questions, but it's more of a demand and it slightly frightens Cat. Cat shakes her head a bit as if she doesn't know before glancing down at the floor, using her finger to trace patterns into the carpet.

"So Lane...What brings you here?" her father attempts.

"Well your daughter has been acting...odd lately. Let me start by asking if you have noticed any actions that might be considered out of the ordinary?" Lane begins, then pauses, waiting for one of her parents to speak up.

"Out of the-"

"What do you mean, odd lately?" her mother interrupts her father.

"Why don't you explain Cat?" Lane prods, but Cat shoves her head in her hands, refusing to be a part of this conversation. Refusing to look at the people surrounding her, expecting an answer. She's going to let them down if she tells them, she thinks. They're going to think she's crazy. That she needs to holed up in a mental institution just like Lane suggested.

Lane sighs. "Cat here has been...well, rubbing her...skin...almost like someone who has OCD and might wash their hands until they bleed...That's what Cat does, only it's her whole body. Do you under-"

"What..." her father cuts Lane off, squeaking gently.

"What are you talking about," her mother orders. "Are you trying to say that Cat is OCD...or what?"

And this is where she feels like everything is going to go downhill.

"No...although it could possibly be a form of it. I'm not sure. However, if it was, there would be a reason for it and that's what I'm trying to figure out," Lane tells her parents like she's not here. Like she's just an object. A stupid, annoying, worthless, object.

"Cat...Is he serious?" her father searches her. She remains buried in her hands like if she does so for long enough she'll be transported from this situation. So she remains silent, and that's answer enough for her father. "Why...Why would you do...whatever that is?" Her father's voice is filled with pain and horror for his eldest daughter. When she again stays motionless, her mother starts to shout at her like she did something wrong.

"Cat, answer the damn question!" For a second Cat feels like she's back in the parking lot with Jade and all she wants to do is run away. She knew her mother would react like this, ever the abrasive one with the very opinionated statements and the obnoxious resolution that she could behave however she wanted, no matter how childish. Cat understands part of her mother's reaction will be the guilt and feeling of failure that, first, she wasn't completely there for her second born and often neglected him until she learned that he was autistic, and two, she had now refused to have had acknowledged the signs that her first born was crazy as well.

"I...I can't mom!" she exclaims with grief.

"Why not? What the hell is this man talking about! Can you tell me that Caterina? Why is he here and what the hell does he mean you rub your skin? What am I supposed to make of that?" Her mother is livid, enraged.

"Now Mrs. Valen-"

"Shut up Lane. Unless you would explain to me what the hell you mean by 'she rubs her skin'! You can't just come in here, randomly tell me that my daughter is mental, and fuck-" her mother falters at the use of the curse word, but quickly regains her composure. "Fucking just expect me to know what you mean and deal with it!"

"Erin, ple-" her father tries to calm her mother down, but is silenced and even though Cat hasn't picked her head up to look at what's unfolding before her, she can envision her mother's scowl, a glare that could even rival Jade's.

Lane's voice is shaky when he begins to speak. "I only meant that she has been rubbing with a washcloth at her skin till it bleeds. Here, I'll show you..." After a moment Cat feels her arm being tugged away from her face gently and she allows Lane to force the arm of the shirt up until it reveals her scars.

She can hear her father gasp and as she looks up for the first time, she notices her mother's appalled, shocked face. It takes a second to really register, but finally her mother speaks up, only this time her tone is quiet, yet still spiked with venom. "I thought you were better...That you had forgotten." Her father nods his head as if to agree with his wife.

She feels the need to apologize and does so repeatedly. "I'm sorry mom, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean...I- I only thought...I'm sorry mom...I'm so, so sorry..."

"You don't need t-"

"Lane get the fuck out of my house," her mother orders, cutting him off, her whole stature shaking with rage.

"I- Excuse me?"

"Get...the...fuck...out." Her mother's face is dyed a bright red.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Valentine, but Cat-"

"You have no say in this...Go!" her mother howls, pointing angrily towards the door, looking like she could explode at any point, the purple and blue veins in her skin popping in an ugly array of colors. Her father bows his head and looks away. The day he argues with Cat's mom is the day the earth ends.

"Fine. But I expect to hear a report?" Lane scurries to the door, grabbing his jacket and then rests his hand on the doorknob, looking back expectantly. Cat mouthes the words 'don't go,' more horrified of her parents then of him. He frowns and closes his eyes tightly when he sees her fearful face, but reopens them within a few seconds, most likely cursing himself for what he had triggered.

"No. You won't," her mother deadpans.

"Will she be coming to school tomorrow?"

"Out."

This time Lane does as he's told. Then her mother turns on her.

"Pull yourself together Caterina," she hisses. "What the fuck is this nonsense?"

"I...I don't know mom...I'm sorry...I'm so-"

"Oh shut up. Save your breath," her mother growls, throwing her hands up in the air exasperatedly. "Is this all just a game to you? Let's see who can screw my life up more, you or your brother? Is that what you're trying to do?...Well is it!" she hollers, pacing back and forth.

"Mom no...I'm not...It's just...Just the..."

"Stop stuttering! You're not illiterate! You can talk! At least I've been paying for you to learn shit like that and that's why I've been wasting my hard earned money on a stupid private school just for you!" Even her father winces at her mother's statements.

"Please...It was just e-everything that h-happen-"

"Caterina I thought we were over this! It was a mistake. Not everyone in the world is like that man. Get over yourself!" her mother screams at her, getting closer to her, yelling in her face. She knows her mother has always had a sore spot for the past and hated talking about it because it made her feel like she hadn't been a good enough mother to protect Cat. And Cat also knows that the reason her mother is so insistent or persisting that Cat should be over this by now is because her family has no money for therapy between her brother's medication and her private school.

"I...I-I can't." Cat starts to choke up.

"Why? You're such a fucking failure Caterina! Grow up!" her mother explodes before storming out of the room. _Failure_. The insult circles around in her head. _Failure_. Her mother's right. She is a failure. She just makes everyone around her unhappy.

"I...I..." her father stammers over his words. His big brown eyes are wide and brimmed with sorrow. It looks like he wants to apologize, looks like he's going to say something that expresses his woefulness of her situation, but he instead clams up and just shakes his head. He heads over to the stairs before throwing one last look over his shoulder and saying, "I'll talk to her...I...I'm...It's..." And then he gives up and goes up the stairs, his feet falling heavily against the wooden contraption.

So she's left alone in the room, shaking, on the verge of tears. She can't really truthfully say that this has never happened to her before, but it still rattles her. Makes her wonder why she can't be a better person. Why she can't ever seem to please anyone. Why she's such a horrible _whore_. She slowly gets on her hands and knees and then crawls under the cocktail table. She knows it's futile, that it won't do anything for her and will certainly not improve the situation, but she likes knowing something is over her head. That she's not completely abandoned and even if she's all alone, she still has this small shelter that will look out for her. That will protect her.

Cat curls up in a ball and rests her head against her knees, breathing deeply, trying to imagine that she's safe. That nothing, that _no one_, will ever harm her again. Will ever make fun of her again and tell her that she's a _worthless slut_. That she can't _fucking_ do anything right. Can't even _fucking_ please her own parents. Doesn't even know how to _fucking_ act like a normal human being.

"Stop it! Just stop it!"

Her mother is yelling at her father. Her screams echo throughout the house and they come again and again. She never hears her father respond though. She knows he would never raise his voice. Knows he would never go against her mother.

She hears her brother crying in the room over. Loud noises make him cry. She wonders why she didn't notice his cries before. She wants to go help him, but that would mean walking upstairs and she knows that if she attempts to walk, her wobbly legs would give out.

Truth be told, she wishes her _whole body_ would just "give out." Then she wouldn't have to deal with this...this...disappointment. This hatred. This self-loathing. This guiltiness. This sorrow. This...this anger. She wonders if her whole body was to just stop if anyone would miss her. If they would think to themselves, "Wow, I wished I had helped. I'm sorry and I wish she was here." She thinks the chances of that happening aren't very good. She doesn't think anyone would care.

Especially not her parents.

Her brother's cries die down as well as her parents arguments. There's a moment of just silence and she's aware that soon her mother of father will come down and say what they will. What they've decided...Or maybe not. Maybe they've forgotten about her. Maybe they could care less if she just rotted under this table. It wouldn't be the first time they have thought such things. After all, it would be less work for them.

But, no, they haven't, and she lifts her head out of her position to see her father walking down the stairs, tense. She crawls out from underneath the table, but remains on the ground, gathering herself in a sitting position before glancing up at her father as he hobbles over to her. She knows it's odd, but she's still sure that at this point if she even tried to stand she would just fall right back down.

"Caterina...You will be going to therapy...We will be withdrawing you from Hollywood Arts," is all he says. Then he just stands there quietly, twiddling his thumbs, perhaps waiting for her to say something or trying to scourge up the courage to tell her something. After what seems like a few minutes of just staring at each other, he opens his mouth, but then quickly clamps it shut when her mother angrily stomps down the steps and over to the pair.

"You better hope we get a refund or we might not be able to pay the fee for your insanity and you'll just stay here and rot until you go to hell."

Her head snaps towards her mother, mouth gaping in disbelief and shock. Even her father is staring at her mother in complete surprise. Her mother looks first at her and then her father before looking down at the ground. Cat thinks she looks guilty, but her mother soon takes off upstairs, probably off to comfort her brother who just let out a loud wail.

"She just...She just feels let down...She doesn't mean it," her father tries to justify her mother's words. But he can't. No one can.

_You'll just stay here and rot until you go to hell._

Cat doesn't think she, or anyone, can say those words and not mean anything of it. She wonders if this was how her mother always felt. _Let down_.

Her father's voice rings in her head. _Let down_. Her mother was let down. She let her mother down. She always knew she was a failure, but to know her mother thought nothing of her and wanted her to rot in hell...She didn't know what to do. She thinks of that time when she was younger, when she was returned to her family. How happy everyone had been. Everybody was smiling and cheering. She wonders if that was an act. If her mother was let down even then. She knows it's absurd, but she just can't help thinking these things, because believe it or not, she's always felt guilty for wasting their money on a private school, so she's tried to make it up to her parents. Particularly her mom. But it seems to have never worked.

Cat slowly drags herself up till she's standing. She's more dazed than dizzy and she finds she can walk. Walk up the stairs, down the hall, past her parents, and into her room. She wobbles over to her dresser and grabs her sleeping pills. She doesn't take much, just enough to knock her out for a bit. She crumples to the floor in a heap. She wishes that she wasn't a let down. She wishes that she was better.

And as the pills take effect and she starts to drift off, she wishes, just one wish above all the others, that maybe...just for once, she could perhaps _please_ her mother.

* * *

_Author's Note: Yes, I do realize that beds in a mental institution are rare and only given to suicidal patients! But the characters don't ;) And there's a bunch of other things but I have reasons! Anyway, you'll see what happens! I promise I'm not going to make up random stuff about mental institutions...I am researching them! :) Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Drop a review if you liked? :)_


	5. Hospitalization

_Raw Skin_

The pills don't last. They never do. She wakes up as usual, groggy, wishing that she was anywhere but here. Anywhere but this wretched, awful place filled with so many dreadful memories. She feels like everything that she lays eyes upon stirs up her past. So she wants to just run. Just run, run, run and get away from the binding nightmares. But she can't. Because if she was to run away in her little pink converse, she'd have no place to go and they'd find her. They always did. She's trapped. Like a hostage, except she's confined in her own house.

_At least for now_.

She can bet her parents will set up an appointment for her to go to therapy. She will probably be in there tomorrow. She wonders what's going to happen. If the people are going to act all nice and cautious, like she's a ticking bomb of insanity that could just explode at any second. Or maybe they'll be mean and cruel. Maybe they'll hate her because they think she's to crazy. To out there.

She wonders if they're going to evaluate her. Going to treat her session almost like an interview. Get to know her, get to see what's really going on in her head, and then go off into a back room of some sort to discuss her with her parents. Then they'll place her in a room (because she knows that her parents will stop at nothing to get rid of her). What will the room be like? Maybe cold, damp? Dark? Or maybe like a rainbow bursted in the room? She doesn't know what to expect. Has never been to an _institution_. She thinks that the word sounds scary. _Institution_. Wishes that they would call it something happier.

_Beep_. _Beep_.

Her alarm.

She rubs her eyes and then pushes herself to her feet. She wanders over the alarm and whacks the snooze button. No school for her today. Her parents would never allow it. Not when they find her so mentally unstable. So _weird_.

She flips on her little lamp next to her alarm clock and as it flickers before fully powering on she sits on her bed. Her bed is very soft and it makes her sleepy, makes her want to lie down and go back to sleep. She entertains the idea for a little and drowsily her eyelids start to droop and she falls back against the bed. But as she's shifting in between consciousness and sleep, she starts to have these almost dream like thoughts flood her head. At first it's nice, and she imagines going to the shelter and picking out a kitten to adopt, but things quickly turn sour and soon a man approaches her. He smirks at her evilly, eyes black and metallic, glinting in the harsh sun. He makes his way over to her and grabs her arm tightly. Then he pulls her away from the shelter and soon he's shoving her in this dark place and then she's crying and then he's getting closer and closer and then...well then she jolts awake, snapping her eyes open.

She jumps off the bed quickly and huddles in a little ball on the floor. She was so stupid to think she could fall asleep on that God forsaken bed. It always gave her nightmares. Every single time. It also reminded her of everything _wrong_ she has committed. All the guys she had sex with because when they asked her, pushed her to do it with them, she was never brave enough to say no. Thought that if she refused they would hit her or do something very very bad to her. She always clammed up, panic and fear setting in. She would feel claustrophobic, them so close to her, staring at her, breathing on her, _touching_ her. And somewhere along the line she lost the ability to talk and by default, her answer was always yes.

She shudders to herself, thinks to herself how stupid and worthless she is. Everyone at school knows her for a whore. Knows that she will give herself up to anybody who asks. Knows she doesn't value herself. Knows she looks to other people to give her value.

She unwillingly recalls the afterwards. When they would get out of her bed (or shove her out of theirs) and when she asked what would happen next, they told her they would call her. She always knew it was a lie. Half of them didn't even have her number. But still there was always a little hope in her that they would call. Turn around and show her that she's not just an object to be used and then thrown out. That she was worthwhile. But it never happened.

Then again, as she rocks back and forth, back and forth on the floor, she wonders what she would do if they ever did call her. She knows she would be confused because no one ever would and besides, they would probably just be looking for more sex.

Because, she needs to face facts, she's just an object. She's never going anywhere in life. Her only purpose on this earth is for other people to use her, enjoy her. She learned that from a very young age, when that man kidnapped her. While she wants to hate that man so much, with a burning passion only matched by the depths of hell, she can't, because she's still Cat after all and she can't bring herself to really truly hate anyone except for herself. Besides, she should probably thank him. He's shown her what her purpose in life was.

Eventually she's able to calm down, or at least stop shaking so that she can stand. She glances at the clock which reads 8:45. It's still early. She guesses her mom is still sleeping, assuming that she did stay home from work. And her dad's schedule was different every day. But when she peeks outside her room and hears nothing, she knows her parents are either gone or sleeping. So she decides to tiptoe over to her brother's room and finds him on his IPad that her parents had gotten used off of Amazon for a cheap price. She hears the Diddly Bops talking and knows he's watching his show.

"Frankie," she coos gently and Frankie looks up at her and smiles. She smiles back before going over and sitting on his bed. She knows that unlike some other autistic children, he actually likes to be close to others and show affection like kissing or hugging. She silently thanks her father for disobeying what the doctors ordered and always making sure to almost force affection on the child because now she can hug him or hold his hand or anything really because he's used to it. He enjoys it.

She wraps him in a loose hug, head resting on his shoulder. "Diddly Bops, huh? I should have figured," she giggles, though her laughter is devoid of any joy. Just a shallow, bitter noise used to mock her, remind her that there is nothing in her life to be happy about.

Frankie croaks out a yes, eyes still fixated on the little screen. He was always so happy when he was able to use his IPad because sometimes it wasn't charged, dead, and her parents weren't able to pay the electricity bill so he wasn't able to use it. Then he would become extremely grouchy and throw fits. She was glad her parents were able to pay half of the bills this time around, because sometimes they spent all of their money on her for her tuition and her brother. It wasn't always like this, she thinks, sadness now a pang in her heart. They used to have money before she went missing.

Anyway, they sit there in silence, watching the shimmering screen before them, transporting her to a temporary world of no problems. It was just her and her brother watching their favorite show. It was all her and her brother ever watched.

But all things come to an end and soon the show rolls its credits. She sighs and removes herself from his bed and goes to walk out the door. She's halted when Frankie requests her to stay and flashes another episode of the Diddly Bops on the screen. She shakes her head and his frown is full of remorse and he reaches out with his hand as if he'd be able to reach her and make her stay.

"I'll be back later. Just keep watching your show, okay Frankie?" And then she leaves, wondering about tomorrow. If she'll be able to see Frankie at all or if she'll be holed up in some mental institution. She wonders if the institutions actually work like she thinks they do. If they'll just take her based on what her parents say.

Condemn her.

She walks down the hall and then down the stairs and towards the kitchen only to see her parents busily making breakfast. She freezes, shocked that her parents were up because she didn't hear them go downstairs or wake up or anything. She didn't hear them talking or chattering or anything like usual. In fact, right now they were dead silent.

She must have gasped or something because in the next moment both of her parents are staring at her. They don't say anything, they just stare. Her dad's face is a mixture of disappointment and exhaustion while her mother's face is stony. Cold, like she couldn't care less what happens to her daughter. Then her eyes narrow and Cat feels a chill climb up through her bones and rattle her heart.

No one says anything and her flight instinct kicks in, mostly because she doesn't have a fight instinct. No, she was gentle Cat, and she could never bring herself to hurt anything. So she turns around, prepared to leap up the stairs and run into her room because she was trying so very hard to avoid her parents, but her father's voice stops her.

"Caterina, wait!" It comes out more of a plead. More wistful than a demand and it causes her to stop dead in her tracks. "Turn around?" She does as she's asked and faces her father. His expression has morphed into one of sorrow. "I want to talk t-"

"Don't bother," her mother interrupts and Cat can't help but feel like her mother's words are daggers spiking her chest, restricting her breathing. "Nothing you say will get to her. She needs professional help from people who know how to deal with fucking mental cases like hers."

She sees her father swallow, debating with himself whether to say something or just to go along with what his wife said. He must have decided not to because he turns around and softly calls her mother's name, "Erin..."

"Don't Erin me," came her mother's retort. "You know as well as I do that she's freaking insane. She's not normal."

"She's our daughter," he tries gently and Cat feels a surge of hope that maybe that will get through to her mother so that they can go back to normal and stop all this hatred.

"No, she's not and hopefully she'll be gone by tomorrow." Cat wonders why her mother is so full of this hatred of her. She understands that she let everyone around her down, but she's never been told by anyone besides that man that she should rot in hell.

Finally her father backs and down and spins around to face Cat again, sighing heavily.

Soon her mother's wily laugh pierces her ears. "You know, she shouldn't even be called a _she_. _It's_ no better than an animal. No better than a rat," her mother snidely remarks and even though she knows her mother is trying to take away her humanity, she can't help but fall for it and feel stupid. Like she's not good enough.

"Erin, I-"

"Oh shut up."

And he does.

Cat bounds up the stairs and runs into her room, slamming the door shut behind her, tears falling freely from her face. She knows her mother is right. Knows that she isn't worth anything. Knows that she will never be worth anything. She wonders if it would be better if she was never born at all.

Through her tears she eyes the big bottle of pills she takes every night. They help her to sleep, help her to get away from this nightmare that she's living in. And she knows that right now, she needs to just get away from everything. So, a mess of tears, she stumbles over to her dresser, grabs the bottle of pills and pours some into her hand. She doesn't know how many are there, the tears causing doubles of everything she looks at, so she just swallows them all without water. But when the effect isn't immediate she pours a whole bunch more into her hand and downs those. Then when she still doesn't feel anything, in a desperate attempt to just make them work and stop all those words and insults flying through her head, she pours some of the bottle's contents into her mouth before flinging herself and the bottle on the floor.

She doesn't know exactly why she's doing this, hasn't considered the consequences of how many pills she just took. All she knows is that she just wants to sleep. Just wants to escape everything for a long, long time. And as she finally feels those pills kick in, she sees her father rush into her room screaming, hollering, _pointing_, like she's a sight to see. Like she's a freak and everyone needs to point at her and laugh. And then she hears her brother crying. She feels awful, but she can't undo what she has done.

Suddenly, as she sees her mother rush up into her room, emotions a cross between fear and anger, she feels a pang in her stomach and extremely woozy. She gets to her knees and grabs her stomach, keeling over. She feels sick. Awfully sick.

"Caterina! Get to the bathroom! Quick!" someone orders her. But she doesn't respond, instead she upheaves violently and shakes so hard it hurts. It feels like her throat is on fire and tears pull at her eyes. Then she throws up again, the effort of puking twice causing her chest area to hurt.

"Call the ambulance! Call them now!" She vaguely hears her family screaming, to focused on trying to make it stop. But it doesn't, and a few minutes later she pukes again, all over her hair which had fallen over her shoulders. She feels rough hands grab her, yanking her up and dragging her to the bathroom. They put her in front of a sink and then gather her hair back roughly.

She continues to tremble and as time goes on she's soon leaning against whoever was helping her, legs to wobbly and weak to hold her up. Soon she hears people throwing her front door open and racing up the stairs. They quickly rush into the bathroom and she's pulled from the sink and carried down the stairs and out the front door, into the back of an ambulance. They sit her up in the back and shove a bucket in her hands before the ambulance lurches forward and speeds to the hospital.

The struggle between keeping the pills down or throwing them up eventually ends ten minutes later and she passes out from the effort of puking and the millions of sounds erupting from the hospital as she is pushed in a wheelchair to a room in the back of the hospital.

.

She wakes up in a bed, a pounding headache attacking her. She takes a look around, drearily blinking the sleep away from her eyes. As she does so, she realizes this isn't her house. This is a hospital. And just like that, everything that had happened only a few hours ago rushes back into her head. She cringes as all the strain of remembering. It causes her headache to worsen.

"Cat?" she hears a voice softly call. She looks over to the far side of the room and sees her father sitting on a chair while her brother was sitting on the floor, playing with beaded necklaces.

"Yes?" she croaks out, although painfully. Her throat feels as though it's burning and she badly wants water. She coughs a little, but even that hurts so she immediately stops, wincing at the flames rippling up her throat.

"You're awake," her father smiles and goes over to her, taking one of her hands into his own.

"I guess I am." Another painful sensation racks her throat and she reminds herself that she shouldn't talk, but as she continues looking around the hospital room, she doesn't see her mom there, and breaks the rule of no talking she set for herself. "Where's mom?"

"Oh..." her father's face is downcast and he runs his hand through his hair and it reminds her of her friend Beck Oliver. She wishes that she could be at school, living as normally as possible, instead of here in a hospital where she knows that they're going to take her overdose as a sign of suicide. She didn't mean it that way though. All she had wanted was to sleep.

"She's talking to the doctor now," her father explains. When she doesn't answer he awkwardly shuffles his feet and drops her hand. He nervously shifts his gaze around the room. He looks tense and his hand is shaking. Cat's eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Cat why!" he suddenly exclaims, falling to his knees in a dramatic gesture and burying his face into his hands. He isn't crying, but he is on the verge of hysteria. "Why would you do this to yourself! I don't understand!" he begs. She looks down at him. He appears small, pitiful. She wants to feel contempt, hatred, she really does because he should know why she's upset and he should trust her that she didn't try to commit suicide, but she can't feel anything but sympathy and sorrow for the broken man in front of her.

"Not suicide," she whispers, shaking her head. Her father slowly picks his face up out of his hands and looks at Cat and they stare at each other for a moment, his eyes that of guilt and pity, whilst hers one of pleading and regret. He doesn't believe her.

_Click_.

The sound of the doorknob turning alarms them both and her father jumps to his feet. In walks a man who was slightly shorter and dressed in jeans with a sweatshirt on. "Hello Mr. Valentine. Cat. I'm Jacob," he introduces himself as he walks over.

"Hi," her father responds, slightly rattled and confused to as what this man was doing here. His lips start to tremble and pull into a small grin. He was uncomfortable and even Jacob could tell.

"I'm here to talk to your daughter," Jacob explains to her father. When her father just nods his head but doesn't move, Jacob nods towards the door and says, "I'd like to talk to her alone if that's all right." He gives a big smile, dimples showing, though teeth slightly yellowed perhaps from coffee abuse.

"Um, all right," her father says unsurely but goes over to Frankie and the two of them walk out. When they're gone Jacob pulls a chair from nearby and sits next to Cat, the broad smile still gracing his face.

"Hey Cat," he says again and she nods her own hello warily, knowing that whatever was going to come was not going to be good. "So where are you from?"

"Hollywood," she squeaks. She hopes this man isn't going to make her talk. Doesn't he understand that it hurts?

"And how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"I remember when I was seventeen. I set my classroom on fire," he chuckles, tries, and even though Cat is fairly trusting and very gullible, she can't help but wonder if he's lying.

"So the doctors tell me that you overdosed on sleeping pills, huh?" he asks and Cat nods her head sadly. "I understand that life has been rough for you lately and you know, some of my other patients have done similar things you have and have thought about ending their life. I was wondering if you have had thoughts like that?"

She shakes her head fiercely. "I didn't try to kill myself," she asserts firmly, although her voice breaks at the end. He continues to smile but she sees a flicker of pity flash through his eyes as though he doesn't believe her and she wonders if her mother had told him something prior. She wonders if they her mother told him she was a liar.

"Okay. So then can I ask why you took so many pills?" he asks, though not unkindly.

"Sleep," she huffs.

"How many pills had you planned on taking?" he inquires.

"Enough to fall asleep. They weren't working-" she coughs a bit and he stares at her confusedly.

He nods his head as if understands. "Do you normally take sleeping pills?"

"Every night."

"Mhm. Is there any other medication you take?"

"Yes."

"What?" he questions.

"Pills for my...disorder."

"May I ask what disorder?" At this she shakes her head and looks down at her hands. "Cat?" he presses. "Please?"

"Bipolar," she quietly admits.

"Okay," he says. "Now are you under a lot of stress lately? Maybe school or society? Some of my other patients have told me that they feel stressed out because of the expectations they feel society has put on them."

"Not really," she declines.

"All right. Has anything ever happened in the past that you would like to tell me?" By the look on his face, she can tell he already knows. She can tell he has talked to her mother and maybe even someone from her school. So she refuses to answer and looks away from him. He seems to accept this because next he says, "Okay. Thank you Cat." And with that he heads out the door and within a few heartbeats her father and her brother scurry back in.

"Where's mom?" she croaks again, wincing as her throat again burns.

"She's talking to the doctor and Jacob," her father informs her.

She sighs. She's scared her mother will try and twist everything she said just to get her out of the house. And so she waits in complete silence, her father and brother at the other end of the room while she waits in fear of what was going to happen to her.

Eventually, her mother strides in and looks at her icily.

"What'd they say?" her father questions and her mother shakes her head and looks like she's about to answer.

* * *

_Author's Note: Not sure if I like this chapter, but hey, this wasn't originally going to be a chapter and it's full of action I suppose :)_

_Also to Guest: 1. OCD is obsessive compulsive disorder where someone can't control the impulses they have to do a certain action like wash his or her hands over and over again :) 2. One sibling, Frankie, her brother, who has autism_

_Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Leave a review if you liked? They help me to write faster! :)_


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